Alone
by GoddessOfTechnology
Summary: "Don't leave! Please, don't leave! I don't want to be alone!" (Or: Not everyone you meet is trustworthy, Graham) (Rated T for blood)


**A/N: Credit to p-r-o-m-p-t-s and grahamrocks on tumblr for the prompts used to write this fic. Credit to rycbarm123 for betareading.**

* * *

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The slow, gentle trickling of his blood wandering down the rocks rouses Graham from his stupor. Blinking the blurriness from his vision, he slowly opens his eyes, rather like a new-born calf getting its first taste of sweet life. His eyes are dull as he looks without seeing, gaze glazing over his dark, rocky surroundings as his mind fails to absorb the implications. A small niggle at the back of his mind tells him he should be worried…but he feels…he feels…

His thoughts are scattered, disorganized, his vision even worse so. He feels curiously weak and powerless, and a stubborn numbness fills his body, drowning out all pain. Everything seems distant, far away, as if his soul were adjacent to his body instead of inside it where it rightfully belongs.

(a part of him recognizes this as a bad sign. The rest of him is too tired to do much about it)

There is water dripping from the ceiling. He stares at it, tracking the drops with his gaze as they fall. Intrigued, he begins to count them, mentally, too tired to speak aloud.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six._

They fall with definite, final clicks, clattering to the stone beneath.

_Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Twelve._

The sound seems to melt gently in his brain, like crumbling snow. He can feel himself being lulled gently to sleep.

_Thirteen. Fourteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Twenty._

His eyes begin to flutter closed. Something at the back of his mind starts to panic, alarm bells ringing…but it all seems so…unimportant…

_Clatter. Scrape. Screech._

His eyes snap open.

It's the sound of armor scraping against stone. He squints through his blurred vision as a purple, shiny shape appears in his field of view. It seems important. The panicking voice at the back of his mind says so in any case.

_Purple. Purple._

Dazed, he tries to connect it with something else.

_Armor._

Not specific enough.

_Archery._

Better.

_Affa nata._

It means 'yes'. And 'stalama' means no. That's important. That's good. He's making progress.

_Achaka._

And from there, from that name, the memories begin to pour as if from a break in a dam, taking his breath away

_Tournament. Eye. Dragon. Achaka. Friend. Arrow. Attacked. Sacrifice._ He remembers now. He…he sacrificed himself to save Achaka. From the dragon. The dragon was about to kill Achaka, but he distracted it, and it went for him instead, and now…and now…

_Blood._

The world comes sharply into focus, and he gasps, as the numbness dissolves into agonizing pain. At first, it's just a blanket of pain, but slowly it localizes, condensing in his legs, a pain that brings tears to his eyes.

His legs…his legs…they hurt so much…

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Mustering the last of his strength, he forces himself to sit up. The sight that greets him nearly makes him vomit.

His legs…

They're mangled, for lack of a better word. Utterly shredded, as if the dragon used them as a chew toy. He can see where tattered shreds of skin and bloody flesh hang off snow-white bone like some grotesque cat-o'-nine-tails, can see where the bone is splintered and torn like a green twig.

His breathing starts to come quick and fast the longer he stares at them, panic beginning to seize his thoughts. _I'll lose my legs. I'll die here. I'll never walk again. I'll–_

_Don't panic,_ says the spot at the back of his mind, calm and soothing. _You'll be fine. A magic healer can fix this. You just need to get out of here._

_But how?_

_Achaka will help you,_ responds the spot at the back of his mind._ Stay calm. Achaka will help you._

Of course. He was a fool to forget it. Achaka will help him out of here. Relieved, he shifts his gaze to the man in question.

For some reason, his skin crawls slightly. Achaka seems to be staring at his shredded legs, and although Graham can't see his face, his posture seems…wrong. Somehow. He can't say how, exactly. Maybe he's only seeing things. Maybe he isn't.

_Run run run._

The thought is invasive and unwelcome. Graham pushes it aside.

Achaka is still staring. Graham wouldn't mind, except blackness is beginning to gather at the corners of his vision. If he's going to make it to a healer, he'll have to move fast.

"A-Achaka? Buddy?"

His voice is surprisingly weak and fragile. He doesn't like that very much.

Achaka is still staring.

"Achaka?" He cringes. "I…I need a bit of help here…"

As if to accentuate his words, he feels himself slump. Small sparks of darkness dance and dazzle across his vision, slowly growing in size. With one trembling hand he reaches out for Achaka, silently asking for aid.

Achaka turns away, and begins heading towards the exit.

For a moment, Graham is dumbfounded. Speechless. Shocked. He can only stare at Achaka's retreating back, as Achaka leaves him here to…to…

"Wait!"

Achaka doesn't stop. Doesn't slow.

Panic gives Graham the energy needed to reach out, to drag himself, pitifully, over the stones, inch by painful inch, blood trailing behind him like a morbid train. "Don't go, please!"

Achaka shakes his head faux-regretfully, keeps walking_. Sorry,_ he seems to say, mockingly.

_"No, **no**!"_ His attempts to move are pathetic. He's barely shifting position. And Achaka keeps moving further and further and further and further and further–

_"Don't leave! Please, don't leave! I don't want to be alone!"_

Further and further and further and further and further and further–

_"No! **NO**!"_

Achaka disappears in the darkness with a final glint of metal armor.

And Graham is alone.


End file.
